


Measures of Peace

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, M/M, gary's dead and chas had to find out eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: Chas is exhausted. So is John.





	Measures of Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessicamiriamdrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/gifts).



> the show not letting chas interact with anyone from john's past other than anne marie is, frankly, horse shit, and the fact that of the scenes he had with her, only one, maybe two, in any way acknowledged their shared history is even more horse shit
> 
> this was supposed to be a response to jessicamiriamdrew sending me the word "cafuné" and telling me to think of it in terms of john/chas, and in my defense, i did try

Chas is exhausted. It was a long day, his third double shift this week, and his fares all seemed to need more from him than usual. Some just needed a little extra help navigating the city. Others had no idea where they were or where they were going. And one guy needed somebody to listen as he unloaded all the shit he’d been bottling up.

It’s not that Chas minds playing amateur therapist or tour guide. That’s the nature of the job. You let enough people into your taxi, you’re bound to come across a few who need direction, and Chas has been doing this for long enough that he knows the sorts of bland phrases that sound deep enough to make people think he’s imparting wisdom when he actually hasn’t said anything more meaningful than, “You have to pick something eventually,” which is simple fact.

But those are usually rare. 

Today, it was needy fare after needy fare.

So he’s exhausted, and as he walks through the mill house checking for his room mates, he’s grateful to find that John and Zed are nowhere to be seen. Everything is where it should be- which means nothing is where it belongs- so it's safe to say they aren't kidnapped or running themselves ragged hunting something that goes bump in the night. They deserve their rest.

As does Chas, a fact he isn't too proud to admit as he strips down in his dark room, too tired to reach up and turn the light on. 

He’s gotten as far as dropping his jeans when a familiar voice drawls, “You’re home late.”

If he were any less tired, Chas would have jumped out of his skin. As it is, he just takes a deep breath- only now noticing the weak smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air- and asks, “What do you want, John?”

John doesn’t answer, so Chas shakes his head and goes back to peeling off his clothes. John’s voice came from the bed, which is going to be an issue later, but for now, it means Chas can lob his clothes in the general direction of the hamper without getting an earful.

The bathroom has an automatic night light, which is bright enough for Chas to brush his teeth and wash his face without making a mess.

He half expects John to be gone when he returns, but the clouds must have shifted, because the moonlight streaming through the window shows John curled up on his side under the covers.

It’s hard to tell, but he looks worse than usual.

Before Chas can ask what John is doing, John says, “Gaz is dead.”

Chas stops short and draws a long, deep breath. A hundred questions race through his mind, a thousand possible answers chasing them.

“Because of you?” is the question Chas settles on. It’s too vague, too easily turned into an accusation by John’s self-hate, but Chas is tired, and dead friends aren't a novelty anymore.

He’ll be angry in the morning when the grief breaks through, but for now, Chas just feels the paradoxical empty-heavy feeling of impending loss.

John makes a noise that could almost be a laugh. “It was a bit of a team effort between me and Gaz, but when it comes down to it, I'm the one that carved the runes into him.”

And there he goes. Twisting the question. Dodging what Chas meant by answering what he asked.

“Was it bad?”

“I’m told there are worse ways to go,” John says slowly.

So yes. “It’s over now?”

“Yeah, mate. It’s over.”

Nodding to himself, Chas finishes making his way to his bed and climbs in. “I’ll get started finding him a headstone tomorrow,” he promises as he gets settled. “Unless you think we should send him back?”

“No,” John says quickly. “This country wasn’t his home, I know, but it’s not as if he had any great love for England.” He pauses, and Chas can almost hear him thinking. “His spirit should be resting now, and I don’t want us shaking it up if we don’t have to. No sense disturbing the dead before they’ve disturbed themselves, yeah?”

There’s more to it than that- this is a side of John that rarely shows itself, and even through the haze of exhaustion, Chas knows John is holding something back- but Chas can’t make his mind concentrate hard enough to figure out what John isn't saying.

So he closes his eyes, shifts until he’s comfortable, and lets it go. He’ll figure it out eventually. John isn’t half as good at keeping secrets as he ought to be.

Just as Chas is drifting off, the bed mattress shifts. It’s John, he knows, no doubt trying to figure out how to escape without inviting discussion.

Luckily for him, Chas doesn’t want to talk until he’s slept for at least seventy-two hours. Not that he’ll get that much, but it’s good to aim high.

John doesn’t leave, though. He cuddles up instead, laying his head on Chas’ chest and laying a hand on Chas’ belly, his fingers brushing the hem of Chas’ boxers without sliding under. He lets out a little sigh a second later, having decided he’s comfortable.

Chas doesn’t bother complaining. He’s too tired to pretend he doesn’t like the warm weight of John’s body, and he can feel the shape his grief will take over the loss of Gary. He’s always been a social mourner, leaning on the people around him and letting them lean back, and for all that John decidedly is not a social anything, Chas likes having him around. There’s something grimly buoyant about John. Like he’s so full of hot air, he can’t sink.

Reaching up, Chas fumbles at John until he finds his way to John’s head.

Someday he’ll figure out how someone as aggressively neglectful of himself as John has the softest hair Chas has ever felt. The strands slip through his fingers like silk as he runs his hand through them, barely catching on the sharpest of his calluses.

John hums and tilts his head.

“‘M afraid I don’t have it in me tonight, luv,” John mumbles. His voice is soft but more tired than teasing, a gentle reminder that despite the frenetic energy John always seems to find when he’s chasing monsters, he spends most of his days running on empty. “Stick around, though, yeah? ‘M always at me best in th’ mornin’.

Chas doesn’t reply, just keeps running his fingers through John’s hair. The motion is gentle and consistent, and combined with his exhaustion, Chas quickly finds himself drifting off again.

He’s in that strange place where he isn’t asleep but he isn’t awake either when he hears John say, too softly for him to mean for Chas to hear it, “I know I’ll lose you as well. And it’ll be my own doing, too. A smarter bloke would try to minimize the damage, get some distance, but I’ve never been too smart. Least of all when it comes to you.”

Chas tries to tell John he’s obsessing over problems that don’t exist, but all he manages is a weak sigh.

John doesn’t speak again, and this time, Chas does fall asleep.


End file.
